Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  She had urged him then to use the tactics he knew would work. Darius could follow her advice up to a point, as he certainly had certain strategies that would work well here. But he needed to give his troops an edge. As much as it pained him to try something experimental on (basically) the eve of battle, Darius didn’t see how they had much of a choice.

  Or perhaps they did.

  Darius sat back, a memory coming to him. He’d done this before, sat in a place where he felt pressed from all sides with no real good options. It had been early in his career, the first time he had met Behnam. They’d been in a campaign together against Serrati, the first of many, which had been an unmitigated disaster. Almost every battle fought against Serrati was, granted, but this one had been particularly bad.

  All because of a new tactic that a Serrati general had introduced, to devastating effect.

  His eyes went blind to his surroundings as he thought back on that battle, nearly a decade ago. Could he do that here? Could he implement that same tactic? It would mean retraining the pikemen in a very short amount of time, which Darius loathed to do, as it might or might not go well. Then again, technically it wouldn’t be much of an adjustment, not as much as the other tactic Darius meant to employ.

  He sat there and thought, remembering tactics used against him that had worked, tactics he himself had used to good effect. He considered and discarded them, logically judging what could be done with minimal retraining and what would be impossible to pull off in only three days.

  Yes. Yes, he could use that tactic.

  Now that he had made the decision, he felt oddly at peace with it. With a deep breath, he stood and ducked out of his tent, heading for Behnam’s next door. He slapped the flap and waited for a bellowed, “Enter!” before ducking inside.

  Behnam sat with his own letter from Baros in his lap, scowling down at it. “Did you get one of these too?”

  “Thirty-eight words,” Darius responded dryly.

  Snorting, the aging general waved the letter at him. “Mine was seven. ‘Make Darius give me a proper report.’ I feel distinctly upstaged.”

  Knowing he felt anything but, Darius ignored the letter for now and took a seat opposite the brazier although he didn’t feel like hugging it this time. The weather had turned a little warmer and everyone had been profoundly thankful for it. “Behnam. I know we’ve been talking about re-arranging the pikemen to draw them in more tightly together but I have an idea. A somewhat unorthodox idea.”

  Anyone else would be aggravated to hear this, after days of discussion and an agreement on tactics, but Behnam perked up with instant delight. He leaned forward to sit on the edge of his seat. “What is it?”

  “Two parts to this. First, I do agree that we need to rearrange the pikemen. I want to make them three deep instead of in units.”

  A deep crease appeared between Behnam’s salt and pepper brows. “I don’t see how that helps.”

  “I want to vary the lengths of the pikes,” Darius continued, hands raising in illustration. “Make it so that each row of pikes is long enough to reach the first row’s. So that there’s literally no path open to anyone charging in, as they’ll have three pikes to evade for every pikeman they aim for.”

  Behnam opened his mouth, an automatic protest ready to fly, then closed it thoughtfully. “The pikes now are ten feet long. You’re suggesting the second row’s pikes be, what, fourteen feet or thereabouts?”

  “Precisely. And the third row’s will be eighteen. Long enough to rest on the shoulders of the pikeman in front, and give it the same reach.”

  Behnam stared sightlessly forward for a time before an evil smirk twisted his lips up. “You’re right. That won’t give them any space to evade with. We’ll have to set the men to immediately cut down new poles and there’s not a lot of saplings to be had in this area.”

  “We’ll make do as much as we can. I know we can’t do three rows deep with all of our men, there’s not enough wood to manage it, which is where my second idea comes in.”

  “I’m all ears,” Behnam assured him.

  Darius felt like he should preface this next idea a little to make sure that Behnam saw the point he wanted to make. “Do you remember, early in our campaign with Serrati after I’d joined you on the front lines, that trick the general pulled? He had his pikemen staggered so that at regular intervals the troops stepped back several paces, creating pockets just wide enough for a horse to fit through.”

  “Good gods do I remember that,” Behnam recalled with renewed aggravation. “The horses kept automatically ducking into those pockets, steering for the only clear space they could see, and we lost half our cavalry before I gave up and called them all back. They played beautifully on a horse’s instinct to go for open space. I wanted to murder the man with my bare hands, though of course, we never got close enough for me to wring his neck. Wait. You don’t mean….”

  “Of course, why not do that here? I know our men aren’t trained to do that, but we’ve got a few days to re-organize them with. And it should be easy enough to do, since we’re rearranging them anyway. From what I’ve seen, perhaps half of the barbarians are on horseback, it’s how they’re making those trips back and forth to Roran. It might be more than half by now as I have a feeling they’ve been stealing anything with four legs.”

  Behnam’s eyes crinkled up, in clear crow’s feet, grin positively evil. “You mean to unhorse them as much as possible, trap them the same way the Serrati did with us, then use the Baiji to come around behind and crush them. Hammer and anvil tactics.”

  Spreading his hands, Darius admitted, “It’s the only way I know to give us a fighting chance of getting out of here without being slaughtered.”

  “I think it’s a very, very sound idea. I’m not convinced there is enough wood around to give us enough long pikes to pull this off.”

  “I’ll request some from Baros,” Darius promised, “and send word to the Night Raiders to lumber some on the way in. Between those three sources, we might have enough to do the job with.”

  “Maybe,” Behnam responded a trifle doubtfully, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “I’ll get everyone started on lumbering. You write Baros before he comes up here in person and demands that report.”

  Darius didn’t think that much of an exaggeration. Thirty-eight words meant Baros was ready to saddle the horse himself. “I’ll do that. And send word to Navid as well. Do you want me to brief the commanders on the new plan?”

  “Yes. I’ll round them up and send them to you.” Behnam went straight out of the tent without a backwards glance.

  Realizing he had nothing to write with, Darius left for his own tent, mentally rehearsing how to report all of this to Baros. Fortunately, the king was used to Darius throwing new tactics at him and wouldn’t think much of him changing plans this late in the game.

  He did feel vaguely apologetic toward his commanders, however, as they basically had a few days to retrain the pikemen with. No commander liked abrupt decisions like this, especially not with an army that felt outrageously stressed to begin with.

  Resigned to some very unhappy officers, Darius fetched his writing table and bent toward scribbling out the first message.

  “General!”

  Darius paused in his conversation with one of the cooks, as he knew that voice well, and quickly turned, eyes searching in the crowd of soldiers and tent. When he spied the man, he lit up in a relieved smile. “Navid!”

  His streetborn commander strode through the camp like a man who had not only succeeded but brought more success in his wake. His shoulders were back, chin up, a smile crinkling the corners of his dark eyes as he went directly for Darius, giving him a salute. “Sir.”

  Beyond relieved to see the man, Darius returned the salute and then clapped him on the shoulders. He hadn’t known whether to expect him this afternoon, or if Navid would have to catch up with them at their next camp. Considering they only had two more days to train the pikemen with, Darius felt particul
arly pleased Navid had caught up with them today. “You’re a day ahead of schedule. How did it go?”

  “Well. Amazingly well. The Night Raiders remembered the trick with the cats, and we spread the word through Arape to put a megalo of cats on the borders. The barbs are rasping now, won’t get within throwing distance of them. Bit of dracon for the barbs.”

  Darius hadn’t thought to issue that command and he really should have. “This is why you’re my favorite, Navid. You know how to improvise in the best ways. Did you get my message to bring me poles?”

  “I did. I’m not sure how many we ended up with,” Navid answered honestly. “Each man juggled about ten or so on his horse, so prolly five hundred? Or thereabouts.”

  “Five hundred is perfectly amazing, all things considered,” Darius responded honestly. “You didn’t lose anyone?”

  “A dozen Night Raiders, unfortunately. But it could have been muchly kako.”

  Darius’s eyes crossed. Worse was the understatement of the century. “Sometimes I forget how formidable the Night Raiders are.”

  “Try fighting alongside them for several weeks,” Navid retorted dryly, eyes twinkling. “You won’t forget after that. How did everything go here?”

  “Ah.” Darius didn’t feel up to doing any sort of quick summary out in the open near the cook’s part of the camp and waved Navid to follow along with him, heading for the officer’s tents and giving him a synopsis of events in a low tone as they walked.

  Navid looked increasingly worried as the words tumbled out, downright frowning by the time that Darius finished. “That’s cutting it insanely close, sir. I agree, the new tactics should work well, but you realize that I had barbs chasing our tails coming in?”

  Darius grimaced. “I know. I’ve got a few scouts watching the main road, and they report more are gathering together. The standards were finally brought out the day before yesterday, when the different raiding parties merged with the main body. We’ve seen signs of five tribes.”

  “Yes indeed. The leader is a gyne.”

  Blinking at him, Darius repeated in surprise, “A woman? How do you know?”

  “It was a gyne that led the forces up north, and she had two different clans with her that we could make out. I say gyne but I would swear she’s a giant. She’s at least a head taller than Bohme, just as stocky, and she has the voice of a foghorn.”

  Stopping mid-step, Darius demanded incredulously, “How good of a look did you get of this woman?”

  “Unfortunately a very good one. She engaged us once.” Navid’s face twisted into a grimace. “That’s when we lost the dozen Night Raiders.”

  Which said a great deal. Darius flexed his fingers around his sword hilt, absently pulling it an inch from the scabbard before pushing it back in, an endless fidget. “You think she’s the one leading all of them?”

  “Only person giving commands. And both clans were following her.”

  “Yes, I see your point. If one clan will follow, the others likely would as well.” It also explained why the main force up north shadowed them but didn’t try to engage, leaving the raiding parties to skirmish and harry them along. They were waiting on their leader to arrive. “My scouts haven’t seen her.”

  “They wouldn’t, not as yet, she was about a half day behind me. You’ll get reports of her by this evening.”

  “What tactics did she use?”

  “Full force charge. To be fair, she couldn’t use much else, not in that open space. Even our barmecide general be gate pinched to pull off a bit of bunko.”

  Darius quirked a smile at his commander, taking the good natured ribbing in the spirit it was meant. “So we don’t actually know if she has tactics or not.”

  “No clue, sir.”

  Not the answer he wanted, but the one he expected. Darius looked out over the camp and watched for a moment as the pikemen ran through another drill under Kaveh’s and Ramin’s watchful eyes, both men barking out orders when someone fell out of step.

  Navid watched with him for a moment before asking softly, “How is that going?”

  “Surprisingly well. I fully expected one of the officers to murder me in my bed when I first suggested it,” Darius wouldn’t have blamed them, either, it was a ridiculous thing to do, “but most of the men here are long-term veterans. They’re adjusting easily. It’s just a matter of drilling it in well enough they can do it even when jerked out of a sound sleep.”

  “Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.” Navid watched them for another moment, the poles coming to rest on the shoulders of the front line pikemen, each shoulder bearing the brunt of the weight as they moved forward. “I feel sorry for the men in front. That has to be brutal.”

  “I understand most of the men have rigged some sort of padding for their shoulders.”

  “They’d have to, to keep from being rubbed raw,” Navid acknowledged, his eyes not leaving the drills. After a moment, he finally turned away, staring hard at Darius. “Are you sure this is the right area to stop in? I know you planned to be here from the very beginning, but no second thoughts?”

  “No second thoughts,” Darius assured him. “Why, don’t you like this area?”

  Navid turned his hand, indicating the low, rolling hills on either side, the dried out river bed that flanked the highway, all forming a natural funnel in the landscape. “I could wish the hills to be higher, sir, if I’m to be honest.”

  “It doesn’t get much higher in this area of the country. We’d have to lure them far to the west to get any higher ground than this and I’m honestly not sure how we’d manage that. Just herding them into one body, aimed south, took an insane amount of choreography. I felt like a dance instructor.”

  “A dance to the beat of war?” Navid snorted, darkly amused at the analogy. “I’m just glad that we not only pulled it off, but we’re in position. I don’t feel like we have much time left to maneuver with. Sir, I have to ask, because I honestly don’t think we have more than a day before the barbs rush us. Are we ready?”

  “As much as we can be.” Darius knew that wasn’t really an answer but didn’t know what else to say. “You were the last group out. We have everyone now in the camp. Well, except the Baiji, but they’re in position as well.”

  Navid looked at him steadily. “You know that’s not what I’m asking, sir.”

  Blowing out a breath, Darius inclined his head. “I know. I don’t know what to tell you, Navid. I think we can win. I think we can stop them. If these were the barbarians of three years ago, I wouldn’t even doubt it. But these men and women are desperate. I don’t like desperate soldiers, they tend to be reckless in the worst ways. They don’t give up as easily.”

  “We literally have to make the cost too high for them to continue.” Navid’s expression turned bleak. “Will we need to decimate their forces?”

  Darius had never liked massacres, even in situations like these, where it was more a matter of survival than any other reason. “I hope not, Navid. I dearly hope not.”

  ~~~

  Despite having reached their final camp three miles north of Ruralcalba, Darius didn’t sleep well that night. No one in the camp did, if the sound of muted conversations were anything to judge by. The barbarians had broken all rules by routinely attacking at night, which kept everyone on edge, as they truly didn’t know when it was safe to rest.

  The scouts reported no movements, and Darius had stationed several sharp shooters about the camp just in case, but still he couldn’t unwind enough to sleep. He spent most of an hour tossing and turning before giving up and instead doing something more constructive. Mostly writing a letter to Amalah.

  Then realizing that he hadn’t sent a single message to Tresea, he winced and wrote her a concise summary of things as well as his conjecture of how things would go. It turned into a more hopeful account than a realistic one and Darius frowned at the page, wondering whether he should crumple it up and try again.

  No, better leave it. Surely Tresea knew him well enough by
now to understand what he really meant to say.

  In a flash of empathy, he wrote a letter to his mother-in-law, detailing how well Roshan was doing. Darius, two years ago, would have claimed he understood the fears that a parent faced when it concerned their child. He heartily believed it at the time. Now that he was a father himself, he ruefully acknowledged that he hadn’t a clue until a squirming bundle had been placed in his arms for the first time.

  Now, he found himself terrified on a regular basis because of his daughter. The idea of war alone made his heart want to stop in his chest. He had nothing but sympathy for his in-laws, forced to watch as their only son went into war in a foreign country. If he had ever doubted their trust in him before this, he could no longer do so, not when they so readily assented for Roshan to go with him. The least he could do was send a letter along to them reassuring them that their son was fine.

  Raising his head, he called out in a low voice, “Tolk.”

  A beat of silence passed, then his tent door flapped open and the bodyguard stepped through, shutting it to keep both light and heat from escaping into the cool night air. It had gotten rather stuffy in here during the course of the night, so that breath of fresh air felt welcome, but still a shiver danced over Darius’s skin and he felt grateful Tolk had entered so quickly.

  “Sir?” Tolk came to squat easily near the brazier where Darius sat writing, face half-hidden in flickering shadows.

  “I have an order for you. It’s not one you’re going to like.”

  The man’s head cocked, ever so slightly, and what might have been a smile flickered over his face in a quick there-and-gone movement. “If battle goes badly, I take Master Roshan directly to Ruralcalba, report to King Baros what happened. Return to Niotan as quickly as possible.”